me or my nuggets--I should not like any fuss to be made about
them--I had rather the whole thing was kept snug. I shall go and get
work somewhere or other; and, thank the Lord for it, I am young and
strong. So, dear madam, don't think any more about me or my nuggets;
for Mr Frank saved my life when he might have lost his own, so he is
welcome to the nuggets, and more into the bargain. I am sorry that
Mr Frank has gone off; so I cannot tell you where to find him. I
have tried, but it isn't any use. We--that is, my master and me--was
lodging with Mrs Jones, as I've written at the top of the letter. I
can tell you no more about where to find him. So no more at present
from your very humble servant, JACOB POOLE."

"Mr Frank has written to me not to post his letter for a month, but I
don't think it is right to keep it from you, so I send it at once."

Such was Jacob's letter, when cleared of mistakes in spelling and
expression.

Frank's letter to his mother was in these words:--

"DEAREST MOTHER,--How shall I write to you! What shall I say to you?
I feel as if my pen scorched my fingers, and I could not hold it. I
feel as though this very paper I am writing on would carry on it the
blush of burning shame that covers me. Darling mother, how shall I
tell you what I am? And yet I must tell you; I _must_ lift the veil
once for all, and then it shall drop for ever on your miserable son.
I am in England now. I do not know where I shall be when you receive
this. I went out to Australia, as you know, hoping to become a sober,
steady man. I am returned to England a confirmed drunkard, without
hope, ay, even without the _wish_ to break off from my sin. I cannot
look you or my father in the face as I am now. I never could look
Mary in the face again. I shall never write or breathe her name
again. I have no one to blame but myself. I have no strength left to
fight against my sin. I am as weak before the drink as a little
child, and weaker. I could pray, but it's no use praying; for I have
prayed often, and now I know that I never really desired what I prayed
for. I dare not face the prospect of entirely renouncing strong
drink. I once dreamed that I could, but it was only a dream; at
least, since I first began habitually to exceed. But can I go on and
tell you what my love for the drink has led me to? I must, for I want
you or my dear father t